So Many Reasons
by bluecharlotte
Summary: One night Kurt sits on his bed, fighting back tears, and writes a list of reasons not to just leave the world behind. A year later, Blaine finds it. "Do you have a pen I could borrow?" Angst & fluff. Warnings inside.


**A/N: Okay, this is a little disjointed and I know the Kurt angst stuff is old news, but it gets more recent toward the end. And there's a huge explosion of FLUFF when Blaine shows up and does Blaine stuff. :)  
**

**Warnings: homophobia, bullying, depression, suicidal thoughts, mentions of self-harm.**

{i}

The mindless chatter of students in the cafeteria makes him nauseous. Goth kids talking quietly over their iPods, the skater group all crowded around a too-small table, countless athletes from each sport team laughing at inside jokes and clapping each other on the back, cheerleaders animatedly arguing about something stupid, even the nerds with their own spot in the back. Kurt may be a freshman, but practically all of the other freshmen have people to hang out with that they knew in junior high. He can sit with some people, maybe, but it's not like they'd notice or care if he was gone.

He goes to the library for lunch most days. He may act all high-and-mighty, but he's dying inside. Because really, he doesn't have any friends.

{ii}

He knows it wouldn't help. If anything, it would probably make things worse. His dad might notice, and get stressed out, and he wouldn't be able to wear all the fashionable shirts with short sleeves in spring or summer without being self-conscious. But sometimes he thinks about it, self-harm. About being able to control something, feeling the pain and the exhilaration of it and knowing he could make it stop.

It's just all too much, everything—the loneliness, the tortured silence, the numbness. And sometimes when no one is around to see, he digs his nails into his arm, hard. He presses and presses and sometimes even scratches until he starts to bleed. And he tells himself it doesn't count.

After all, he doesn't even own a razor or a pocket knife.

{iii}

He sees the sign-up sheet early one morning, and something in him lifts. He doesn't even really make a conscious decision to do so, but by the end of the day his name is up there, bold and confident, _Kurt Hummel_. And he thinks that maybe, just maybe, this will help. Maybe he'll meet people. Maybe high school can be more than just a transition period.

{iv}

The locker presses hard into his side. He doesn't allow the bully the satisfaction of seeing him flinch, making sure to keep a straight face (_well, shit, how hilariously ironic is that?_). But the guy doesn't seem fazed at all by his lack of reaction, sneering like he's never seen anything more comical or pathetic. "Thought I told you to go die, fairy. Fuckin' disgusting."

Kurt swallows hard over the lump in his throat. There'd been some stuff before, but never like this.

He shouldn't have come out.

{v}

"Well, mister Schue, I was thinking we could make use of my voice in this Broadway number..."

"Hold up, I thought we were doing Mike's choreography!"

"Are you guys still fighting about that stupid song?"

"Oh, shut up, we all know you're just too lazy to say anything."

He sits in the back and tries to ignore the tightness in his chest. He hasn't said anything all week. He knows they're his friends, but they haven't noticed, haven't even _begun_ to notice. He may as well not be there at all.

{vi}

He scrolls through pages upon pages about depression, trying to understand, hoping he isn't just being a hypochondriac but also kind of hoping he is. That is, until he reaches a heading titled "Treatment." When he sees this his vision blurs and he clicks the window closed, pressing his palms against his eyes to try to stem the flow of tears.

He doesn't know what to do.

{vii}

He doesn't think he can take much more of this. Karofsky isn't letting up, no one is trying to help, and he's slowly falling apart. They all seem to think he's invincible, but it's getting to him more than they realize. And to make it all worse, everybody seems to have a _someone_ now, someone who cares and listens and needs them, and he's just so _alone_. He can't help but think it'll always be this way. He isn't really worth the effort, anyway. What's the point, with someone awful like him?

One night he sits on his bed, fighting back tears and digging his nails deep into his forearms, unable to stop thinking about the bottle of sleeping pills in his bathroom. And he writes a list of reasons not to give up, not to just leave the world behind.

He can only think of three.

{viii}

Every time he gets home, it's the same.

"So, how was your day?" _Well, I was thinking about killing myself earlier. _He smirks humorlessly as he puts his messenger bag down, imagining his dad's reaction if he voiced his actual thoughts. He'd care. He always cares. Right? Or would he just think he was being melodramatic? Kurt isn't sure he wants to know. "Kurt?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry." _Sorry I'm so dramatic. Sorry I'm lying to you. Sorry I'm gay._ "It was fine."

{ix}

It's always "Hey, uh, your dad and I were gonna..." or "We're planning to hang out this Saturday..." or "By the way, the three of us will be gone tomorrow..."

And then, of course, Finn: "You're missing out, Kurt!" _I know I'm missing out. I miss out on everything._

_I wasn't really invited_, he wants to say. _You can say you want me to come with, but you're the son my dad has always wanted; they can ask me to tag along, but everyone in Glee Club are fantastic friends now. Why should I even bother going if I'll be ignored?_

But he refuses to show any weakness. So it's "Yeah, whatever," or "I know; I'll go next time." He won't.

{x}

It's almost a year later when Blaine finds it. By now things are infinitely better—fantastic, even. Kurt has Blaine to rely on, his family is more united, he's been hanging out with his friends, and it's the summer before _senior year_. There may be occasional roadblocks, stupid little disagreements or faulty moments, but he knows now that they can be overcome. So it comes as a shock when Blaine returns from his room (where he was supposed to be grabbing a movie) with a small slip of all-too-familiar paper.

"Kurt, what's this?" Blaine swallows thickly and Kurt wants to make the worry in his voice go away.

"That—it's nothing."

"Nothing," he repeats dubiously.

"It's, I mean, it's old. I should've gotten rid of it."

Blaine looks conflicted. "When did you write it?"

"Last year, sometime. In October I think. Here, give it to me, I'll toss it, I should've—"

"No."

"What? Why—look, it doesn't matter. I don't feel like that anymore, you know that." He smiles a warm, hesitant smile that he only ever lets his boyfriend see, a smile Blaine has called adorable multiple times. _Please just drop it. I don't want to remember, _he tries to say with his eyes.

"I do, but..." Blaine watches him carefully, a slow smile pulling at one side of his mouth. "Do you have a pen I could borrow?"

Kurt opens his mouth, but it soon falls shut again. After a bit of a struggle he manages to speak. "Um. I—wh—yeah, but..."

Blaine stops him with a wave of his hand. "Never mind; I'll go get one." He's out of the room before Kurt has time to object, but he follows instantly. That paper needs to be ripped up, burned, stomped on, and then burned again.

"Blaine, what are you doing?" His boyfriend is sitting hunched over his kitchen table, using one of Carole's gel pens to write furiously on—wait. "Is that...?" It is.

"Hold on. I donno if I have room."

"But..." Kurt slowly approaches him, but Blaine covers the paper with his hand.

"Oh, be patient," he says with a smirk, still concentrated on the scribbles below him.

Kurt huffs and sits down on the closest chair at the table. "Fine."

After about five more minutes Blaine finally stops writing, examining the now-covered slip of paper skeptically. "Well, I don't think I wrote _nearly_ enough, but there wasn't much space."

Before Kurt can even begin to ask anything, Blaine has placed the worn paper on the table in front of him. He purses his lips as he reads his handwriting from a year prior, much smaller and less self-assured.

_Reasons:_

_1. Dad_

_2. Broadway/music_

_3. to see the world_

It's written in black and the paper is worn and wrinkled, clearly from the tears he shed over it at the time. He stares at it for a moment before looking below, at what Blaine wrote (ironically, in sparkly purple).

Kurt's eyes go wide.

_4. Blaine :)_

_5. Finn_

_6. Carole_

_7. Rachel_

_8. Mercedes_

_9. Sam_

_10. Mike_

_11. Tina_

_12. Santana_

_13. Artie_

The list goes on. And on. After getting through everyone from Glee, Blaine goes on to add countless other names to the list, most of them people Kurt talks to in classes or at lunch.

Kurt bites his lips as his eyes scan over the words, a few crammed into corners, because really the paper is just about the size of an index card. Some of them are a little hilarious, like _29. Sue Sylvester _and _36. Coach Beiste_, but some of them also make him want to cry; _19 _reads_ Elizabeth Hummel_ and _32 _is _Barbra Streisand_. When the names taper off Blaine doesn't hold back, writing down anything and everything, funny or not.

_39. that irreplaceable feeling on stage when everything else disappears_

_41. amazing future fashion trends (Marc Jacobs!)_

_43. getting out of Lima, Ohio_

_46. caprese salad_

_49. finishing "Pip, Pip Hooray" this summer!_

_53. buying an apartment in New York_

_54. waking up with me in that apartment ;)_

The paper is absolutely covered in Blaine's slightly messy purple scrawl. By the time he gets to the last one (_65. I don't know what I'd do without you_), he's fighting back tears, unable to stop smiling. His boyfriend's voice startles him out of his trance; "I know I probably forgot some stuff, because you have _so many_ reasons, but I had to do something. I mean, I couldn't just let you throw it away like that. There were _three_." Blaine sounds both anxious and pleased with himself, and it makes Kurt feel even lighter. He looks up to see Blaine staring down at the paper nervously, chin propped up by his hand and soft brown eyes wide as he drums his fingers on the tabletop.

When Blaine looks up and their eyes meet, his gaze (as always) makes Kurt feel like melting, and he bites his lip to try to keep that from happening. "Thank you, Blaine."

"It's nothing," he replies immediately, smiling affectionately. "Do you want to go watch _The Matrix _now?" Kurt raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"Just... one thing first."

"Oh, okay. What is it?" Suddenly panic flickers across Blaine's features, and he glances down at the paper between them. "Crap, is it number 57? 'Cause I wasn't being totally serious about that, you know, if you didn't... I mean, I was just thinking—mm..."

Whatever Blaine was trying to say is muffled by Kurt's mouth on his own. He seems to have completely lost his train of thought by the time Kurt pulls away a good thirty seconds later, slightly out of breath. He runs his tongue absentmindedly over his lip, smiling a little sheepishly as Kurt talks quietly. "No, it wasn't 57, you idiot." Kurt's still smiling as he kisses him again, softly, more a peck than anything else. "I just wanted to _thank you_." _For everything._

Blaine bites his lip but finally murmurs a soft, "You're welcome."

Minutes later they're settled down on the couch in Kurt's family room, cuddled up together and watching the opening credits of _The Matrix_ like it's just another day of summer. Kurt leans into Blaine and can't keep a smile off his face as he thinks of what is written on the paper tucked away in his pocket.

_57. marrying me :)_


End file.
